Page 5 of Cryptic Dreams

He is going to be so mad when he sees me. I can guarantee my wounds will be mostly healed by then, but even if they were completely unnoticeable, Orion would still know what happened. And then I’d have to convince him not to go down to the construction site whereheworks in order to kill that horrible monster of a man. And that’s not something I’m going to have the energy to do.

I lie on the floor a little longer, do a mental sweep to make sure everything is accounted for—which it thankfully is—but I can tell my nose wasn’t the only thing he broke.

Nose.

Orbital bone.

Fracture to my jaw and cheek.

He definitely busted a few ribs but my lung seems to be ok now. At least I’m not coughing up anymore blood, so that’s good.

With what little strength I possess, I push up into a seated position and regret it immediately.

The room tilts then starts to spin, my stomach lurching from the movement, and that definitely means I have a concussion.

Thankfully, it won’t last.

None of it will last.

I’ll get up, take care of the more severe wounds, skip a shower but wash up before I change into something more comfortable then place my order with Clean Drip so I can pick it up as soon as they open. Then I’ll try to sleep, try to at least rest and let my body continue to heal.

Maybe, if I do end up falling asleep, I’ll be too exhausted to dream.

Maybe after a night like the one I just had, the Gods of Old will take pity on me and refrain from sending me anymore visions today.

But if they don’t, if they force me to see their cryptic messages even while I’m too tired and sore to paint then, I pray that they send me something different because I can’t keep reliving my fate. I can’t handle feeling that same grief and heartache over and over the way I have been for the last six months, not when every inch of me already hurts.

Maybe, for the first time since I can remember, I’ll be spared any of that and my sleep will be dreamless and restful.

2

Itchy

WRAITH

Iam a god.

A god amongst man and vampire, mortal and immortal alike.

And I’m a right bloody genius, an artist, a most talented puppeteer, if I do say so myself because the scene before me, this masterpiece of epic beauty, could not be described any other way. Nor could it have come from any ordinary, simple mind.

Genius.

Bloody fucking genius.

And rather twisted as well.

I love it.

My lips curl into a grin as I grip the balcony railing, my eyes scanning the sea of debauchery and deviance that’s rolling and writhing,pulsingwith euphoric pleasure and sweet, sweet pain in the great room of my nest.

Well, it’s my coven’s nest. It isn’tmine, per se, not yet, but it will be. All of this and more will be mine very soon and when it is, the seedy underbelly of New Orleans vampire population will be in for a very rude awakening. Until then I will wait, watch and wait for the perfect moment to make my move, and in the meantime I will reap the many rewards that come with my title asheir apparentto a broken crown.

A rather guttural moan draws my gaze to one corner in particular and my grin morphs into a malicious smile.

My father’s right hand, the unspoken second in command of the Great Counsel and soldier of the most barbaric variety—Hans—is plowing into a human female, a drug addict much like the rest of the guests I’ve invited to this intimate little gathering. And the twat has sunk his fangs into her rather small and sickly looking breasts.

Perfect.